


Stars Falling To Earth

by Chi-chi-chimaera (gestalt1)



Series: Marvel Universe Fiction [4]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Erik Lives!Au, Family Reconcilliation, Gen, I don't know what the pairings are gonna be yet, Pre-Infinity War, Significant Dreams, geopolitics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gestalt1/pseuds/Chi-chi-chimaera
Summary: T'Challa can't let his cousin die. He wants to show N'Jadaka that he's been listening, that Wakanda is going to change the world. Except changing the world isn't easy, and there's a bigger threat on the horizon than either of them could have imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My overarching plot for this fic is still pretty vague, so I'm seeing how it evolves in the writing. Regarding pairings, I ship both T'Challa/M'baku and T'challa/Killmonger but I don't know yet either which I'm going to end up going with tbh. This is essentially going to be set in the run up to Thanos and Infinity War, with chapters alternating between Wakandan politics and what everyone else in the MCU is getting up to. 
> 
> Constructive criticism welcomed.

Erik opened his eyes to clean, sterile bright light. His chest ached, but not as much as it should. The blade of the spear had gone in under his ribs and pierced his heart - he’d felt it in every beat, shearing the muscle. Killed enough people that way to know it was a death blow; known what it meant pulling it out too. That he’d bleed to death in less than a minute. It would have been honest. He’d wanted it, with his only chance at making a difference falling through his fingers like this country’s red sand.

Couldn’t his arrogant cousin respect even a dying man’s last wish? 

He knew where he was. Recognised the room, the designs on the walls, the medical bed he was lying on. Turning his head he could see glass scattering the floor, swept up in little piles. For all the damage done to this laboratory it was clearly still functioning. Buried in a mountain to better keep the secrets in. Hiding and hoarding truth and power, careless of any lives but their own.

He hadn’t been out for long. 

Since eating that purple herb his ears had been sharper. When he concentrated the world opened up in a thousand sounds. Footsteps not far away. Breathing. If he got close enough, could he even hear a heartbeat? Would have been useful when he was out in the Middle East, although he’d never needed anything more that the weapon he’d made of his own body. 

He could’a sent it out to his brothers and sisters along with the vibranium, but rising from a vision of his father with all the desperation of his anger he hadn’t given that a thought. It was the symbol of his uncaring cousins and so it was more important burned. 

“I can tell you are awake,” said the voice of the footsteps his ears had been tracking. His _other_ cousin. She wasn’t being wary - she’d come too close.

“Sure am kitten,” he said, rolling from the table to pounce… and fell spasming to the ground as energy crackled through him. Bands of pain coming from his wrists and neck.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Shuri asked him, crouching down so he could see her face, not just her ankles. “You are not going anywhere.”

Erik struggled to move his neck enough to look down at his arms sprawled in front of him. There were golden bands of vibranium around both wrists, glowing with lines of white energy. The fury of the righteous, never far away, leapt up in his chest like the stolen spirit of the panther. “Princess, you’re the worst memory of our shared ancestors. Kings putting their own kin in chains.”

“You are not a slave, Prince N’Jadaka. The cuffs are for when you choose to act like an animal rather than a civilised person.”

Erik bared his teeth. “Shows how much you respect me. If you think I’m not a person does that make it easier?”

Shuri shrugged. “Okay, that was harsh. You’re a person, just not a very nice one. Three days ago you tried to kill me, remember?”

“Nothing personal,” Erik said, struggling to make his muscles move. They were still frozen, locked up. “You were in my way.”

“You really do hate us, don’t you.” His cousin looked troubled, which gave him a sharp stab of satisfaction. “Is there anyone you care for? Anything you love, other than your ideals?”

Erik didn’t answer. Sometimes he wondered that himself. There had been, a long time ago. There had been friends growing up, then lovers, even comrades in his special ops teams. But if the cause had needed him to sacrifice them, any of them, he would have done it instantly. Hell, hadn’t he done just that a week ago?

“I would have let you die,” Shuri was saying. “My brother didn’t want to. You are… our guilty conscience. The product of the mistakes our father made. My brother and I want to do our best to make things _right._ ”

“Twenty years too late for that cuz. No, centuries.”

“T'Challa can’t rewrite the history of the world, but we _can_ change the world we live in now. With words, and science, and _peace_ rather than at the point of a sword.”

“The white man only respects a sword,” Erik replied. His muscles were beginning to recover and he thought he would be able to move soon. “If words meant anything to them they wouldn’t have broken their own the thousand times they have.”

“So we will have our words in one hand, and a vibranium shield in the other,” Shuri suggested. “Still, why do you care? Do not tell me you are worrying about us?”

“Fuck you,” Erik spat back. “I’m worried about all of our people you can’t or won’t help because you care about your damn _traditions_ more than you care about our goddamn suffering!” He lunged, hoping to trip Shuri up, but he was slower than he’d thought. She jumped lightly over his hand and skipped backwards. 

“Words don’t work on _you_ anyway,” she said. “Well I told T'Challa what he wanted wouldn’t be easy. We will just have to prove it to you when you see how we’re helping people.”

Erik managed to push himself onto his knees, then to his feet with the support of the medical table behind him. He leaned back against it, muscles still twitching with left-over energy. He realised he was naked aside from his boxers and the cuffs… and the weight of something over his collarbones and neck. He raised a hand to touch it. A collar. He had to grit his teeth together to keep from doing something rash.

“How long d’you think you can keep me like this exactly?” he asked. 

Shuri shrugged. “You lost the challenge,” she said. “You yielded to death even if you didn’t die. That’s tradition, and so Wakanda will never accept you as king now. Where else do you have to go? Back to being a mercenary, a lost Dog of War? Or do you want to burn everything you see down around you just because you can’t have it?”

“It’s a nice idea.”

“Or how about you come and get to know your family a little better, hey? You caused a lot of pain and suffering, and you were going to do something terrible, but that doesn’t mean you didn't have about ten percent of a point. T'Challa is going to change things. Wakanda is going to change.”

The smash-and-grab takeover hadn’t worked. That avenue was closed to him. Didn’t mean the war was over though - far from it. Slow and subtle, Erik thought to himself. When the strike team fails, when the target gets away, that doesn’t mean give up. It means play it smarter next time. Infiltrate, wait, be patient, and strike when the time is right.

“Okay cuz,” he said. “Show me.”

\----

The panther was hunting. Long grass rippled to either side of his face as he stalked his prey. The herd was ahead, the wind bearing the scent of warm beast towards him. Each footfall was silent against the earth. He stopped where the grass did, the open plain stretching ahead where the antelope grazed, lifting their heads from time to time to observe the world around them. Overhead the purple sky danced. Streamers of light made shapes without meaning. 

The panther readied himself for the pounce. Yet before he could another sleek, dark shape came bursting from the grasses to his left streaking like an arrow towards the prey. The panther leapt forwards himself, snarling at the one stealing the kill. 

Above the dead beast, the mottled hide of the golden jaguar rose. Yellow eyes met his own, and the other roared baring long fangs. The panther padded as close as he dared, risking attack, chuffing low in his throat. What to do about this one? 

T'Challa opened his eyes from the dream before it came to any kind of conclusion. He sat up in his bed, the soft silk sheets falling away from him. The night was warm and dark, and he was alone. 

“What are you trying to tell me Bast?” T'Challa asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. “N’Jadaka is a threat, I know this.” Perhaps it might have been better to give his cousin what he had asked for, but as those fierce eyes had closed for what could have been the last time T'Challa had found that he could not simply stand by and watch his kinsman die. His father had made the nightmare that had come for them because he had chosen to kill, and some vain hope had risen that perhaps in _refusing_ to kill T'Challa could reverse that. Could undo it all. 

Was it hubris? Ties of blood blinding him to the truth? Was it simply too late for N’Jadaka to be anything other than Killmonger? 

T'Challa could not afford to believe so. His cousin had opened his eyes to everything Wakanda had ignored for so long. Remaining apart from the world when one could lift it up… that was a moral wrong near as bad as acting to destroy others in the first place. His people could no longer be so selfish as to only think of themselves. N’Jadaka had been right about that much. But meeting the world’s history of violence with violence even worse… with dreams of conquest, war and imperialism… that _could not_ be the solution. 

The ancient kings of the west had once had a legend about a great wheel of fate, which in turning lifted up the oppressed and laid their oppressors low… but the system itself did not change. The very idea that it might had been so alien it had not even entered their minds. Yet if in helping some others were made small then no good was put into the world, it was simply moved around. Wakanda would be better than that. Humanity _deserved_ better than that. 

The immensity of the task before him seemed so great as to break his back if he attempted to place it upon his shoulders. The kingship had seemed so once, and he had risen to the challenge of it. This would be no different. He had already managed to convince the council - or at least they were willing to let him try and to face the consequences as well. There was much to do and as yet he had only the outline of it. The details remained hazy and out of reach, but he was lifting up towards it, towards the rising sun of a new and better world. 

And in his shadow walking in his footsteps, Prince N’Jadaka his cousin, skeptical and unconvinced. 

T'Challa turned over in his bed, pulling the covers back over him. One problem at a time. If Bast had anything to tell him about N’Jadaka, She would have to send a clearer dream. 

\----

They’d placed him in expansive rooms in their palace, high up in one of the towers, but Erik was still a prisoner in all but name. The shackles at his wrists and throat were proving impossible to remove even with his now enhanced strength. He had been left alone for now, Shuri promising T'Challa would come to see him before long. When he’d tried the door after she left it hadn’t been locked, but outside was nothing but featureless corridors and guards. Erik had done a loop of this level, testing out the limits of the cage. The guards - Dora Milaje both - had followed him and said nothing. They hadn’t tried to stop him, but they hadn’t let him out of their sight either. 

Without anything else to do, he’d returned to his room. 

He wasn’t without things to keep him occupied. The view from the palace tower stretched down over the city to the river and the plains, and he could see people and traffic moving in the streets, herds of animals in the lands beyond. A screen was set into the wall which could be activated by voice or touch. Both the internet and the satellite channels of the world were at his fingertips, but he refused to drown his mind in distractions. 

He’d been given the gift of more time. He had to use it to plan.

Wakanda wouldn’t follow him as easily a second time but there still had to be people out there who would believe in the cause. W’Kabi had fallen in behind him easily - so easily that Erik had been suspicious at first, before W’Kabi had thanked him from the bottom of his heart for Klaue’s death. Erik didn’t know how the fight between the Border Tribe and the Dora Milaje had finished but it was clear enough who’d won. W’Kabi might still be alive, but if so he must be a prisoner too. Didn’t mean he wasn’t a potential resource, just meant he couldn’t be counted on. 

If Shuri had been telling the truth about T'Challa’s plans then it might undercut the support that Erik would have tried to call on, and pit them all against the traditionalists and isolationists of Wakanda. So stay patient. Wait. Align their warring sides together to fight for the common goal that was an internationally involved Wakanda, and strike once that first battle was out of the way. 

Erik didn’t know yet what his cousin had planned, but it would not be enough. It never was. T'Challa was all talk without the willingness to take the radical action that was needed to change the world. Talking just ran around in circles wasting energy. He’d seen it all his life. Politicians making big pronouncements about ‘the inner city’, about ‘black on black violence’, about ‘third world countries’, about ‘international aid’. Boots on the ground? Just soldiers who sure weren’t there to help. Money in the hands of the people who needed it? Into the pockets of corrupt politicians. 

Fine white words in one pale hand hid that the other one was always grasping after money and power at the expense of everything else. Even at the expense of other white people most times, not that many of them were willing to open their eyes and see it. Find the dark-skinned scapegoat to blame, turn the anger away from the powerful and back against the powerless. If people admitted the powerful were the cause of all their problems then they would have to face up to the fact that they’d let it happen, and that changing it might put themselves at risk.

Nah. Cowardice was easier, wasn’t it. Running away from the fact that you had to do bad to do good, because that was all the powerful out there would listen to. Words wouldn’t sway them. Money, yeah, that might. Try and _take away_ the money they hoarded like their own blood? Threaten them with _real_ violence? Yeah, then they would listen. After centuries of taking, believing they had every right to every scrap of it, taking it back however you had to was the only option.

Erik had fought in enough wars to know all this, on one side or the other. War against crime, war against drugs, war against foreign countries. War that wasn’t for a cause or for what was right but mostly for the Will of America which was the Will of the Whites, the crackers and colonisers and plutocrats. 

Fuck em all. 

Fuck T'Challa if he thought he could do business with people like that. 

\----

It would be the first time he had seen his cousin awake since their battle under the mountain. T'Challa stood outside the doors to N’Jadaka’s rooms and attempted to steel himself for the confrontation. He expected that his cousin would be angry, and that perhaps that they would come to blows once again. T'Challa wanted deeply to make up for the life N’Jadaka had been denied, but he was under no illusions that Erik would actually let him do so. He held much anger - which was justified - but the force of it pushed him into dangerous waters. 

First N’Jadaka would need to forgive him for saving his life, and even that might be a step too far for him to take. In the light of that setting sun, watching the life bleed out of this man who was both kin and enemy, T'Challa had thought ‘If I can save the life of a friend even if he is a foreigner, how can I let my own cousin, my own blood, die here in front of me?’ He had gathered him up in his arms and run for Shuri’s laboratory. 

He hadn’t been there when N’Jadaka woke up, or when he was brought here. Part of that had been court business, but some part of it had been his own fear. He could imagine this situation as no less than handling a bomb through thick gloves; slow progress and potentially fatal at the slightest slip. Did he even have the right to call his cousin by his birth name, his Wakandan name, or was that a secret and sacred thing to be kept in N’Jadaka’s heart alone?

Enough of his own thoughts. T'Challa took a deep breath and knocked sharply, before opening the door and stepping inside. 

N’Jadaka was exercising in front of the window; push ups in nothing but loose trousers. It seemed effortless, no sweat beading his skin. That was the strength of the heart-shaped herb. T'Challa had considered feeding him the poison that washed it from one’s system while he was still unconscious, but it had not felt right. N’Jadaka had won the right to Bast’s gift fairly, even if he had then chosen to withhold it from others. He had not asked if that was the only garden. It wasn’t - merely the most sacred.

His cousin leapt smoothly to his feet as T'Challa entered, looking at him with a glare full of venom. “Come to gloat then cousin?” he asked.

T'Challa shook his head, and hesitated. How to say why he had chosen this path when even he himself still doubted. Instinct, rather than reason, was ruling him and it was not a state of affairs he was comfortable with. “I have come to make sure you are well,” he said.

Erik snorted. “Sure,” he said. “You mean y’all’s guilt is getting the better of you. It’s that patronising, useless kind of guilt that white folks are so good at.”

There was no place for pride here. “Yes,” T'Challa said, refusing to look away. “Wakanda has failed in its obligation to the world, one demanded by our shared humanity. And my family has failed in its obligation to you, my cousin. What would you have me do if not try to make amends?”

He saw N’Jadaka blink, taken aback for all of a moment before recovering. “I think I made that clear when I was sitting on the throne,” his cousin said. So far he had made no move to put on more clothes even though the climate settings on this floor had been adjusted for western sensibilities. He probably did not realise yet that the herb had also made him resistant to the cold. 

“Washing away the sins of the world in blood will not make it clean,” T'Challa said. “When I speak of shared humanity I mean all of Africa’s children, even the ones that came back here as colonisers.”

With the careful eyes of the panther, T'Challa could see the way N’Jadaka tensed, muscles shifting under his skin and ticking in his jaw as he bit down on the urge to react to that the way he must badly want to; with violence. His cousin was not an unthinking killer though. He would not have survived to put all those scars on his body if he had been. His killing was calculated and controlled, always towards a purpose. Was that better or worse, T'Challa wondered, than simply being a vicious animal, shaped that way by the world?

“Our true brothers and sisters out there in the world are bad enough off to put up with that kinda paternalistic bullshit man, but you think the crackers are gonna thank you for it. Nah. Y’all’re uppity cuz, that’s how they’ll see it. Wakanda has the vibranium, sure, but they’ll pay in floods of dirt-poor blood and bodies to take it from you. The ones in power don’t care, and they sure don’t lead from the front like we do. You’ll kill the world anyway - you won’t get to choose.”

N’Jadaka painted a brutal picture with his words, one T'Challa could almost see before his eyes. But it was a violent, nihilistic, hopeless view of the world which he could not believe was all the world could be. Without hope, one lost all the impetus to strive. 

“You seem to think I will hand over all our secrets to the world,” T'Challa said. “I know you think me foolish and misguided, but I hope you don’t believe I am so incautious as that.”

“Nothing I’ve seen so far has me thinking much of you,” N’Jadaka said, folding his arms over his chest. “But you’re gonna show me different, right cuz? Wow me with your great leadership, your great plan for the world. Gonna show me you can change things without it being at the point of a gun.”

“If you will let me do so.”

“Reckon I’m gonna watch you crash and burn,” N’Jadaka said with a snort. “Should be a good show though.”

It is something. Not quite a hand extended in forgiveness, but a cautious reason for optimism all the same. T'Challa smiled. “Come with me. We must let the council know that you are still alive, and then we must prepare for our visit to the United Nations.”

\----

“M’baku,” T'Challa smiled, bearing teeth with a hint of the panther’s sharpness. “Thank you for coming.”

“I am cautious about what you are choosing to do,” M’baku replied. It made him ill at ease to stand here in the heart of Wakandan technology. Coming into the city had been uncomfortable enough - crossing that boundary between nature and so-called ‘civilisation’ for the first time. Ascending into the palace had been worse. This was the seat of Bast’s power - the outstretched hand of Hanuman could do little to protect him here. Not that he should require protecting. These people were not his enemies, not quite. History though had a way of impressing its weight upon the present.

“And that is why I welcome you,” T'Challa said. “I hope you will take a seat on the council of elders permanently.”

“For a long time the Jabari tribe have been separate from the rest of Wakanda,” M’baku said. “My people refused to bow to the Panther King ten thousand years ago, and no White Gorilla Chief has gone against that in the ages since. Is that what you are asking of me now, T'Challa?”

“I am not expecting you to bow the knee to me M’baku,” T'Challa replied. “I am not arrogant enough to think that simply because the Jabari helped me that you wish me to be _your_ king, rather than just the king of Wakanda.” He must have read something in M’baku’s expression because he laughed softly. “Oh, I know,” he said. “Aren’t all kings arrogant? I am aware that is a risk and so I am trying not to be.”

“The council is made up of representatives from the tribes you govern,” M’baku pointed out. “You see the implications. Why then would you ask this of me?”

“I want you there to speak for the wishes of your people,” T'Challa said. “As a diplomat and an advisor, not as a subject. As the chief of one people to the chief of another. That is all and no more than that.”

M’baku considered this. He had known of T'Challa for a long time, even if he had known him personally for much less. He was an honest man, and his word could be trusted. If this was not the case, M’baku would not have aided him. He shrugged. “I will give it a try. After all, someone must make sure you do not put us too much at risk with these new policies of yours.”

“The safety of Wakanda is still my first priority,” T'Challa assured him. “Her culture included. Knowing the position of the Jabari on most of what you call our ‘over-reliance’ on technology I do not expect you to welcome the thought of making ourselves known to the outside world. However much as I will have people urging me onwards, I also wish to have the odd cautious voice to make sure I do not ignore the concerns of our people.”

“Clearly there is still work for me to do here,” M’baku said. “Although I imagine most of your council will also be cautious voices. When you say you will have people urging you on in your plan, who exactly do you mean?”

At this T'Challa looked away just for a moment. It was uncharacteristic of him, and made M’baku instantly wary. 

“What have you done?”

“Something I have no doubt you will say is very foolish,” T'Challa said with a rueful grin. “I have saved a life. Come into the council chamber and see.”

“Hmmm,” was all that M’baku said as he followed him. The Dora Milaje at the doors pulled them open smoothly, baring the room beyond. At the head of the room, standing to one side of the royal throne, was indeed someone that he had believed was dead.

“S’up,” Erik Killmonger said, smirking. 

“You are right T'Challa,” M’baku said. “You are a fool.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across the universe the lost are found, but there's little hope yet of repairing what has been broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the Wakandan parts is more fun, but I need to scene set for opening up to the rest of the world. Plus to get Thor and T'Challa in a room talking about colonialism. Regarding timeline, I've taken the post-credits scenes from Black Panther as being some way after the main movie itself, as it sets itself directly after Civil War ends and that's not much time to fix Bucky.
> 
> Man, Civil War is a depressing movie.

“Don’t worry brother. I feel like everything’s going to turn out fine.”

As though brought into the universe by the curse of Thor’s words, a sudden mass rose up in the viewscreen in front of them. It appeared to be another space-faring vessel of vast proportions, easily dwarfing their own vessel. “Why did you say that Thor?” Loki said, feeling an urge to back away and run. If only there had been somewhere to run _to_. “Why did you tempt the Fates like that?”

“I didn’t know it was there!” his brother replied, gesturing to the beastly mass of the thing. “How did it come upon us unnoticed?”

Loki’s eyes scanned up and down the foreign ship trying to pick out any details that might suggest its system of origin and whether or not it meant them harm. Something about its architecture reminded him of the Kree peoples, yet other parts had something else familiar about them, something he only half remembered… If it attacked, the _Statesman_ would have little way of escaping or defending itself - but they hadn’t been fired upon yet.

A light flashing on a wall-panel nearby caught his attention. 

“Thor,” he nudged his brother in the side. “We’re being hailed.”

Thor squared his shoulders, his face taking on the kingly mein he had been practising of late. “Let us answer them then.”

Loki allowed himself to fade back into the shadows as he activated a ship-to-ship channel. As the connection was established a screen came up within the viewport ahead showing what he assumed to be the command deck of the other vessel, and the head and shoulders of a figure which appeared humanoid. Of course that was not saying much - plenty of species across the galaxy had a similar appearance and body-plan to Asgardians from species as weak as Midgardians to the Grandmaster of Sakaar who possessed powers beyond even Loki’s kenning. 

“We come in peace,” the figure said. It looked male, pale-skinned with short brown hair and pale eyes. He wore a leather jacket in faded red, but although there did appear to be a faction patch or symbol on the breast pocket, the view of it was cut off by the angle of the picture. “Hey, gnarly eye-patch, man. That’s cool, I like it. So, you guys out of Sakaar?”

“I’m not sure what business that is of yours,” Thor replied, folding his arms across his chest.

“Diplomacy!” Loki hissed from his hopefully hidden position. 

The stranger held his hands up out in front of him, smiling. “Not trying to start something I promise,” he said. “See, my friends and I happened across this ship,” he gestured to the bridge of the vessel around him, “long story, but it’s bigger than any of us really need and we’ve been trying to find a buyer to take it off our hands. Spoke to the Collector in Knowhere but he says he’s only taking portable stuff and wouldn’t even buy from us anyway after the last thing blew his shop up but maybe try his brother the Grandmaster on Sakaar who ran into a spot of bother recently that some big guns might fix and even if not he’d at least buy it for the scrap value so…” He trailed off with an expectant look and a raised eyebrow. He hadn’t appeared to need to pause for breath at all during his spiel.

Thor made no immediate reply and Loki couldn’t even blame him. 

“Soooo do you guys know this Grandmaster guy or what?” the stranger asked. “Your ship ident says it’s registered on Sakaar so we figured…”

“You ask much given you have introduced neither yourself nor your ‘friends’,” Thor pointed out. 

“Name’s Starlord,” the man said, grinning. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

Thor shook his head. The name was not familiar to Loki either. 

Starlord sighed. “One day,” he said, mostly to himself. “Anyway, there’s me, Gamora, Rocket, Drax and Groot. And a few other guys running around trying to keep this monster crewed with a skeleton of a skeleton. Now fair’s fair - who are you?”

“Thor. God of Thunder.”

Starlord nodded at this. “Huh,” he said. “Think I’ve heard of you. Asgardian, right? Isolationist, live on that weird terraformed floating asteroid world with the funky physics, take a space-bridge everywhere you go? You on a field-trip or something?”

“Or something,” Thor said. “Lord of Stars I must offer my apologies. I and the others aboard this vessel left Sakaar some time ago and under conditions that were not favourable. After we left a revolution swept the planet - I assume this to be the trouble your ‘Collector’ made reference to. I do not know whether the Grandmaster remains in power, nor if he would retain the resources to purchase such an impressive vessel.”

“Not… great.” Starlord looked thoughtful. “I mean I guess we could give it a try but I’m not looking forward to refueling this thing if our only lead on a sale turns out to be a dud. Do you have any ideas? Asgard in the market for a second-hand dreadnaught?”

“I won’t deny we could use a more spacious vessel to complete our journey,” Thor said, “yet I doubt we could meet your asking price for such a ship.”

“At this point I’d take a rental.”

Loki could see that Thor was weighing up the possibilities, as well as the meagre funds they had left to their name. The opportunity afforded by this fortuitous encounter was one that should not be allowed to slip through their fingers. Starlord’s ship was more than large enough for each of the Asgardian refugees to have their own cabin rather than their current strained quarters, and no doubt its larger engines would afford swifter travel. He stepped forwards so that he could be seen by the viewscreen.

“Perhaps we could negotiate terms of such an arrangement,” he said.

“Oh hey, didn’t see you there,” Starlord said, although there was a spark of calculation in his eyes that Loki did not miss. “And you are?”

“Loki. Of many places. I believe together we can agree on a deal that all of us will find very equitable. We would be more than happy to book passage on your ship for a fair price. Perhaps even in exchange for our own vessel.” He smiled his most charming smile. 

“Wow,” Starlord said, sitting back in his chair. “You really must be keen to get to wherever you’re going.”

“Once we arrive we will have little need of this ship,” Loki said. 

“Yeah, about that. Where exactly is it that you’re going?”

“A fairly insignificant planet, all told,” Loki said, with a dismissive gesture. “It goes by a few names. Midgard, Terra, Earth, Sol-III…”

Starlord’s eyes went wide, unable to hide his surprise. “Wait. You’re going to _Earth?_ ”

\----

Peter Quill listened to the Asgardians’ story with growing disbelief. Sure, plenty of unbelievable things happened out there in the big wide galaxy but on a little nowhere dustball like his home planet? Alien invasions, technology that was starting to catch up with the rest of the galaxy, it wasn’t that it was at all impossible, it just seemed like maybe someone ought to have been talking about it before now. Gossip was even better than credits as a galactic currency so why hadn’t he heard anything? 

Which wasn’t even getting into the whole ‘destruction of Asgard’ part. Peter wouldn’t claim to be some kind of expert about Asgard but even he knew they were a tough people. Xenophobic and not very involved in galactic politics, yes, but they could handle themselves in battle. This though… some kind of royal civil war and the unleashing of a monster bent on the annihilation of their world just to stop it…

“Wow,” he said, with genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry guys. That sounds… I don’t even have words for it. You’re all welcome on board, we don’t even need to talk about price just now.”

The bigger guy with the eyepatch nodded to him in this weird, regal kind of way. “You have a good heart, Lord of Stars. Thank you for your assistance.”

“So why Earth anyway?” Peter asked. “I know you say a lot has changed there, but why do you think they’ll take you all in?”

“I spent some time there a few years ago,” Thor said. “Part of a team they called ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’. Earth loves me- I am certain they will we willing to offer aid to my people in this time of need.” 

In Peter’s experience people weren’t generally so welcoming to refugees no matter where in the galaxy you were, but then what did he know? He wasn’t exactly an expert on Earth these days. He wasn’t sure how to feel about going back there, even if it was just for a flying visit to drop off his Asgardian passengers. Should he actually go down to the surface? Try and find out if any of his family were still alive? His grandad hadn’t been that old when he’d been taken by the Ravagers. He might still be around. 

That would be an awkward reunion though. Earth knew about aliens, but it seemed mostly of the invading kind. Explaining about the Ravagers, about Ego, about Yondu… he felt his throat close up a little with a sudden sharp stab of emotion even at the thought of Yondu. 

He was better off without getting to know any more of his family. The family he had right here, that was all he needed. 

“It’ll be a few weeks travel,” he warned the Asgardians. “Gotta get through a few different jump before we get to the Sol system gate. You guys lock up your Protectorates good, don’tcha?”

Thor winced. Way to go, Peter told himself. Bring up the ancient glories of the Asgardian Empire when all of that fell apart around them just days ago. Nice move. He decided to pretend he hadn’t said that. 

That was another weird thing about going back. The Ravagers hadn’t been great on galactic history and culture, but Peter had still picked things up here and there in his pretty piecemeal education. The fact that Earth was technically a part of a very hands-off alien empire had come as a big surprise, for example. All of this might have been millenia ago, but it was still well known around the galaxy that there were eight planets you just didn’t go to unless you wanted a visit from Asgardian Special Forces… or what were they called, the Valkyries? Yeah. And Earth was one of them. 

Not that they’d ever done much with the place once they’d claimed it. Wasn’t exactly a lot going on on earth back then anyway. 

“We should be able to dock the _Statesman_ onto the side of the _Supremacy II,_ ” Peter said, changing the subject. “You can prep your guys to move on over whenever they like after that. There’s plenty of space, and my folks and I will do our best to stay out of your way.”

“I must thank you again, Lord of Stars,” Thor said. Peter had thought about correcting him on the name thing, but Lord of Stars sounded too cool. 

“No problem. Glad to help you on your way.” 

\----

Spray crashed against the sides of the Raft as it rose gradually out of the ocean. Concealed in the light Wakandan aircraft Steve watched as the vast doors began to grind open revealing a helicopter ready to take off. Getting to this point hadn’t been easy. After King T’Challa’s unexpected help in getting Bucky and him out of Siberia they had all returned to the man’s own country somewhere deep in the heart of the African continent. Before Lagos, before the UN, Steve had barely even heard of Wakanda. It was something he was more than a little ashamed of - simply not knowing about an entire nation. Having been there he now wondered even those who had heard of it really _knew_ about it. He thought that a country so clearly advanced would be talked about more, but everything he’d read about it or heard about it during the immediate aftermath of Lagos had spoken of it as a third-world country and essentially insignificant on the global stage. 

They really had no idea. 

He’d left Bucky back there with them. Bucky’s choice, not his own. T’Challa had promised they would be able to help him and that he would personally see that they would do everything that could be done. There was something honest and trustworthy about the man that Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on, and he thought that if it hadn’t been for that indefinable sense he wouldn’t have left Bucky there for anything. It was getting harder and harder to trust anyone these days. After HYDRA resurgent, after SHIELD was ripped apart, after Tony turned on them and sold them out to a government just as dishonest and malevolent… Wasn’t it just something that the only reliable person in all this was a total stranger?

As if helping Bucky wasn’t enough, T’Challa had given him this ship. Smaller than a quinjet, nimble, and equipped with cloaking technology, it had allowed him to get right up close to the Raft without being detected. While the prison was submerged it was theoretically nearly impossible to infiltrate, so he had Natasha to thank for sending him the location along with Secretary Ross’ visiting schedule. As the helicopter lifted off, Steve banked the Wakandan craft in and settled it down lightly in the very spot the chopper had just left from as it began to sink back down into the body of the Raft. 

From there, the extraction mission went easily enough. Security was only alert around the times the prison was above the water - once they submerged again everyone relaxed and Steve had his chance. He disabled the guards, knocked out the cameras, and found the cells where the rest of the Avengers were imprisoned. 

“Knew you’d come for us,” Sam said as he stepped out of the shadows. “Even a place like this can’t keep you out. Thought it might be a bit longer than this though. You missed our company that much?”

“Oh you know,” Steve replied, grinning. “It’s so quiet without you and Clint around the place. Besides, who will I lap on the running track if you aren’t around?”

“Ha, ha,” Sam said. “Less smug, more escaping. You got some way off this place?”

“I’m offended you think I’d come here without a plan,” Steve said, going round each cell in turn to pop the locks off. The mechanical backups had kicked in when the power cut off, but they hadn’t been designed for a super-soldier’s strength. “There’s a plane waiting. Something I borrowed from a friend. And I managed to find where they were keeping your gear as well.”

“A friend. Was it Tony?” Wanda asked, with a hint of hope in her voice. She was rubbing the life back into her arms after so much time with them strapped against her chest. “Has he changed his mind? Come around?”

Steve shook his head, swallowing down the rush of hurt and pain that came with the mention of Tony Stark. He’d heard nothing from Tony. After the heat of the moment had faded, once fear and desperation had gone and introspection had taken its place - and most importantly once Bucky was safe - Steve had had a chance to think more about what Tony had been trying to do. He’d been trying to do the right thing, probably, up until he went after Bucky. He was wrong about who he put his trust in, but at least he had meant well. When he’d turned on them in Siberia though… When he’d come after them with murder in his eyes… Well what was Steve supposed to do except fight back to just the same degree? 

Anyway, Bucky was well out of Stark’s reach now. Steve had taken a chance and asked T’Challa for a burner phone to send to Tony. He didn’t know how long the post would take, but Tony might have received it by now. He hadn’t tried to call yet if he had. 

“Not Tony,” Steve said out loud. “A new friend, and our ally for now at least, although he was on the other side for a while there. The man in the Black Panther suit.”

“The African King?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. “The one who tried to disembowel you and Bucky with his kitty-claws? Mr ‘Diplomatic Immunity’ himself?”

“He never said that,” Steve pointed out. “You were the one who kept saying that with that…” he gestured in the air, “...weird cadence.”

“Hey, Lethal Weapon 2 is a classic movie,” Sam replied. “I know I put it on your watch list.”

Scott interrupted them, looking nervous. “Hey, you guys might be comfy down here but I’d like to get out now if it’s all the same. I’ve spent more than enough time behind bars in my life. Where’s this plane?”

Steve nodded sharply and lead them up through the Raft to the landing pad. He gestured to the access terminal that controlled the Raft’s exterior doors. “Natasha managed to forward me the blueprints for this place,” he said. “If we get into their systems we can brute-force the hatch doors up there. Now since we’re still underwater that’s going to flood the place, but the Raft has an emergency lockdown system that comes into effect in case of a hull breach. The airlocks all along the corridors will slam into place and we can get out of here while everyone else is trapped until they can shut the doors and pump the water out again.”

The others looked with skepticism between him and the Wakandan craft sitting on the pad. “That thing waterproof?” Sam asked. “Cos in my experience, most aircraft ain’t waterproof.”

“Apparently this isn’t ‘most aircraft’,” Steve said. “Clint, can you hack the systems?”

Clint looked the terminal over. “Natasha’s back on Team Cap then is she?” he asked. “Glad she’s got so my faith in my skills, suggesting this.” He tapped at a few keys. “Yeah, think I can do it. Both me and Natasha have been getting more than enough practise while trying to wind Stark up…” He trailed off awkwardly. “Forget I uh… mentioned him. Anyway, you guys better get in that ship, ‘cos when I get this started there’s not going to be much time before we’re all underwater.”

There was enough room for all of them on the Wakandan craft, but only just. Clint hit a final key and came running as overhead hydraulics moaned and metal creaked before water came down all around them in a torrent. Clint leapt on board and Steve closed the access ramp, powering up the repulsor engines to bring them up off the ground. Water pounded and sleeted from the small ship’s hull, but inside everything was stable and steady. Somewhere on the Raft alarms were going off, and the fluid level around them was rising. 

“Hold on everyone,” Steve said. “We’re getting out of here.”

\----

Tony had really had more than enough of being fucked over by life. Anyone who ever got close to him either betrayed him and showed how little they had really cared about him all along, or they paid the price for all of his many mistakes. The ones he just kept making. It hadn’t used to be like this! At some point he’d had his hand on the tiller of his own goddamn life, surely! 

The Avengers compound was quiet and dark now. Who was even left to come here, after everything? Natasha was in the wind, her loyalties as shifting and baseless as ever. When she had agreed with him about the Accords it had been so surprising that he’d extended his trust to her almost out of shock, but when it really came down to it, her disdain for him came through. She’d accused him of fucking up the showdown at the airport in Germany as if she hadn’t been there herself, as though she hadn’t agreed with that plan when they’d discussed it as a group, as though it didn’t take two sides to start a war. Had she thought Cap would just stand down? Had she thought Tony of all people could convince him? Steve hadn’t listened to either of them the first time about the Accords. He wouldn’t have then even if he hadn’t turned it into being all about Best Friend Bucky. 

Bucky was… Bucky Barnes was the symptom of the problem, but the problem was that the whole damn world wanted a little accountability and to get a choice about whether the Avengers came swanning in to mess up their country in the process of saving it, and Captain goddamn America couldn’t take being told no or having people think that maybe he was the bad guy. 

Steve would never have listened to him. Tony was sure of that now. Steve had hated him the moment they met and had only learned to tolerate him after Tony had nearly sacrificed himself - not because of Steve’s fucking opinion of him, but to try and save a city. Maybe they could have grown to like each other, eventually, but then there had been Ultron. 

Just another way Tony has destroyed any chance of friendship in his life. God, he missed Bruce. Out of all the Avengers, Bruce was the only one that really got him, aside from Rhodey - and with his military commitments Rhodey had never really been part of the Avengers lineup proper. Rhodey was his oldest friend. His only friend, now. And he might never fly again because he had chosen Tony’s side. He was getting somewhere with the exoskeleton Tony had built for him, but both of them knew it was going to be slow going. 

Tony looked over at the flip-phone Steve had sent him. It was lying out on one of the tables in his office where he’d left it earlier. He kept wondering if it would ring, or if he should use it, call the one number in its phonebook. He picked it up again, the plastic cool in his hands, turning it over and over as he thought. Say he did call Steve. What would that achieve? What would it solve? Neither of them could take back that they had both been trying in earnest to kill… not each other, that wasn’t quite right. Tony hadn’t been trying to kill Steve, just get him out of the way so that he could end the life of the man who killed his parents. Steve had been trying to kill him though. Had come so close to slamming the edge of that shield right through his neck. 

And Tony was supposed to call him? He still had nightmares about Siberia. He had nightmares about Rhodey falling too, except that when he woke up from those the nightmare was still happening. No. Fuck Steve, wherever he had gotten off to. Ross could try and find him - Tony was taking a spell of ‘retirement’ anyway while Rhodey recovered. 

“Boss?” Friday’s light voice suddenly filled the air around him. Tony looked up.

“Yeah Friday?”

“There’s some footage that’s just gone live on the internet that I think you’ll want to see.”

Great. Was it Cap? Had he gone and done something stupid again? “Put it up,” Tony said. A hologram flickered to life in front of him. 

“This is cell phone footage recently posted on Instagram in South Korea,” Friday explained. “I’ve taken the liberties of putting it into a rough narrative order.”

“Huh,” Tony said, as he watched a familiar figure in a literal catsuit leap from one car to another. “What on earth is Prince Meow Mix doing in Korea? Where is this?”

“Busan,” Friday replied. She kept the footage going, short snaps from various angles and of various quality stitched together. 

“A classic car-chase,” Tony said to himself. “I feel like there should be music. So who is he chasing? Barnes again?” Cliche as it was to say, he felt his blood run cold at the thought.

The chase appeared to end in in a crash, although it was impossible to tell exactly what had happened. The cat landed on his feet in any case, and the footage at this point was much cleaner and clearer. Lots of it too; the crash must have drawn a crowd. T’Challa stalked over to the toppled SUV as someone pulled themselves out of it. The man’s face was half-concealed by T’Challa’s back, but the height and build weren’t right for Barnes. 

There was a sudden strange movement, and a flash of blue light that hit the Black Panther without any real effect. Then T’Challa pounced and… ripped the man’s arm clean off. 

“What the fuck?” Tony yelped, but there wasn’t any blood and the man wasn’t screaming - at least not in pain. T’Challa rammed the man up against the side of his vehicle, and held his hand up as though to strike. Tony had seen those claws in person and the marks they’d left on Steve’s shield. He didn’t even want to think what they would do to regular human flesh. The guy’s head was turned, baring his throat, almost taunting. Tony’s eyes narrowed. 

“Friday, zoom in.” 

He’d been right. A familiar Wakandan brand. Ulysses Klaue. Things were starting to make a whole lot more sense.

“So the Panther’s hunting an old enemy,” Tony said aloud. “Interesting, but I don’t know if it’s _that_ newsworthy Friday.”

“Wait,” Friday said, and showed him another clip. Another big SUV, and when the door opened and someone leaned out gesturing, it was another familiar face, one he’d come to know a bit more recently. 

“Agent Everett Ross,” Tony said, curious. “Why are _you_ involved in this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki: You stole this ship from _who???_
> 
> Peter: Ahahah, yeah, from my girlfriend's deadbeat dad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history of the world is the history of people arguing with each other, but at least now the arguments aren't carried out with weapons.

“So you have saved the life of your usurper,” M’baku said, looking the outsider up and down. During the brief period of the succession challenge he had not had a chance to see this man in the flesh. He had heard about him in rumours at the time, and the whole country had been talking about him since T'Challa had taken back the throne. The American might have been royal blood but he was not Wakandan. He had no respect for their people or traditions. He had contempt for their way of life and their religion. He had killed a shaman and burned the sacred herb. He should have been slain for any one of those things. 

“I have saved the life of my cousin,” T'Challa corrected him, taking his seat on the throne. N’Jadaka stood beside him in a loose, easy stance. He did not appear to be armed, but he was at least an able warrior. If he still had the powers of the heart-shaped herb… but surely T'Challa’s foolishness did not extend to allowing him to keep that? 

“When he tries to kill you again, I won’t help,” M’baku said.

“Prince N’Jadaka has no reason to do that,” T'Challa said, as his cousin smirked. “Killing me will gain him nothing.”

M’baku shook his head despairingly. “You claimed not to be an arrogant king,” he said. “Such false confidence is arrogance at its heart. Acts like this are the reason the Jabari have always kept ourselves apart - it is simple self-preservation.”

N’Jadaka smiled. “I like this guy, cuz. Nice to see not everyone in this country is bowin’ and scrapin’ in front of you.”

“I was not talking to you, outsider.”

N’Jadaka bristled, as M’baku had known he would. If T'Challa was the champion of Bast, how much more so was his cousin? A panther’s pride and a panther’s hunger for blood. “I know who you are, man. My father mentioned the Jabari more than once. If anyone here is an outsider it’s you.”

M’baku spread his arms wide with a grin. “And yet I am the one invited into this chamber as a member of the council, and you are the one brought here in shackles.” He had not missed the glint of gilded vibranium at N’Jadaka’s collar and wrists. 

“Peace,” T'Challa said, holding up a hand and regarding both of them with a frown. “Peace. We meet today to discuss the future of Wakanda, not to fight about which of us belongs in this room. The Jabari are a part of Wakanda. Prince N’Jadaka is of the royal bloodline of the Panther Tribe, and he too is a part of Wakanda.”

“Yes,” M’baku said. “Your plan to abandon tradition and spread around the so-called wonders of vibranium. Please, King T'Challa, tell us more.”

T'Challa did not rise to the bait, but equally there had been no great fire in M’baku’s words, merely sarcasm. “The business before the Tribal Council today is to discuss what we can and cannot share with the world at this time.”

“We can share nothing,” M’baku replied quickly. “There, you have heard from me, do you still need me to stay?”

“And miss the pleasure of your company?” T'Challa riposted, smiling. “You would not deprive us so.”

N’Jadaka rolled his eyes, and was joined in doing so - although not in so obvious a manner - by several members of the council. The outsider - by upbringing and culture if not by blood, M’baku would allow that much - was not the only one who disapproved of a Jabari being brought here. So he would stay, to annoy them rather than to please T'Challa. 

“I will not share our weapons,” T'Challa continued, “nor I think at first even that we have vibranium. There is much that our scientists have discovered over the years that does not rely solely on the powers of the Gift. We have medical technologies which will do much good in the world, for example. Our mines are rich with other minerals.”

“We have no need to sell any of what we have,” Elder Kakuve of the Mining Tribe said. “I am not of the Merchant Clan, but even I know that there is nothing the outside world has that we would be interested in importing. Why then would we care about their money?”

“We already sell diamonds and cobalt in conditions of secrecy to fund our War Dogs,” Elder Sekkura of the Merchant Tribe pointed out. “But I too see little need to expand that.”

“It would be to fund some of the other projects I am proposing,” T'Challa replied. “Outreach programs to disadvantaged populations to offer them a secure education and a sense of community - as every Wakandan knows, there is nothing more important for a child. Relief work to our brothers and sisters across this continent; for famines, disasters, plagues… even simply to build wells, roads, hospitals, and ensure no human being is without access to clean water.” 

“I am pleased to hear you are being careful about this project, King T'Challa,” Elder Negasi of the River Tribe said. “Given some of your pronouncements you must understand our caution.”

This was barely caution or care, M’baku thought to himself. It was not that he disapproved of the sentiment but that he simply feared what this was going to cost. Not in money, but in the potential for damage to Wakanda, her traditions and culture. 

Prince N’Jadaka gave a soft snort, but it was enough to get the attention of the council. “And what are you gonna do when the first corrupt politician comes up to your little aid program with his hand out askin’ for his cut? When bandits hit the villages you’re tryin’ to change? When some smart motherfuckers start asking themselves why they’re paying for this shit instead of taking it? Maybe governments and companies won’t go mad the way they would for vibranium but maybe y’all should all nip over the border to the DRC and ask them how they’re doing with _their_ cobalt mines?”

Both Sekkura and Kakuve bristled at that, although Kakuve more so. “We do not enslave our children,” she said sharply. “Our workers are highly trained and well-paid. We always consult their opinions on matters which concern them. There is no comparison!”

“You think those kids are working because that’s what their parents want for them?” Prince N’Jadaka said, uncompromising. “Nah, they’re working ‘cos if they don’t work they don’t eat. Because they don’t got any other choice. I mean this is what I was talking about. This shit is happening just across the border from y’all and you don’t care except to look down on them for what they gotta do to survive in the wake of everything white imperialism took from them.”

“Should we then have risked the colonizers coming for us too?” Sekkura asked. 

This time it was T'Challa who spoke. “Yes. We should have.” He locked eyes with the elders and M’baku saw again the shadow of Bast standing over him. One could not say he was not favoured by his God. M’baku saw her protecting paw in his rescue from the river, from the fall that should have killed him. N’Jadaka might be more a panther than his cousin but if Bast had chosen T'Challa triumphant over him then it had to be for a reason. 

Or perhaps N’Jadaka was not Bast’s at all. Perhaps he had been claimed by her shadow-sister Sekhmet, she who had not walked within the borders of Wakanda since the joining of the tribes and the end of War within. 

“We are all part of the same people,” T'Challa was saying. “No-one’s suffering can be justly ignored. We should have acted many years ago - if anything we have more to fear from the West and East now than we ever have before. But we should not be shackled by fear. We are Wakanda. We are better than that.”

“That doesn’t answer my question cuz,” the Prince said. “What are you gonna do when they try and stop you?”

“Wakanda will not seek war,” T'Challa replied. “That does not mean we will stand idly by if others come against us.”

N’Jadaka did not seem convinced. Once again M’baku pondered the foolishness of allowing him here. He was not the kind of man to change his mind. “At this rate neither of us are gonna live to see this new world you’re set on making.”

“And wars are always the swiftest route?” T'Challa raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I do not recall history proving that to be so - certainly not in this modern world. You should know this - is the war in the Middle East over yet? The one you fought in?”

“Nah, you can’t compare the two.”

“No?” T'Challa said. “Then your armed revolutionaries, when they defeated the trained armies of America and China, toppled their governments, how then would they rule these nations? All those angry white Americans with their guns? Would you have slaughtered them? Washed the streets with rivers of blood? Become the hand of genocide? You _know_ all this N’Jadaka! You know your empire could _never_ have been worth the cost!”

N’Jadaka’s gaze was cold stone. It was vibranium absorbing any shock or insult. M’baku had never seen eyes so dead of emotion, and he nearly called on Hanuman’s name out loud. _This_ was what T'Challa had let live? America had stolen this man’s soul, hollowed him out and filled him up with their poison. There was nothing inside of him to save. 

“Blood for blood,” N’Jadaka said. “That’s not murder, it’s justice. Payback for every soul _they’ve_ slaughtered over the centuries.” His eyes met T'Challa’s, so full of the heavy disappointment M’baku saw there too, and it was N’Jadaka who looked away first. “What? Regretting your choices already?”

“No,” T'Challa said softly. “Regretting those of my father. If he had brought you back to Wakanda…”

Was that a flicker of life in those dead eyes, M’baku mused? N’Jadaka looked away, and the room grew thick with silence. M’baku sighed, feeling that as the other outsider here he should be the one to break it.

“All of you talk too much,” he said. “The only people in this room who have seen the world outside Wakanda with their own eyes are you two here.” He gestured at the royal cousins. “Perhaps you should go and argue about what it is and is not in your own quarters. I vote to keep Wakanda’s silence. These Elders vote for caution. Now be a King and decide what your own idea looks like.”

“I am not a tyrant to rule without discussion,” T'Challa said, with a wry look. “Is that how you do it amongst the Jabari?”

M’baku shook his head, despairing. “No,” he replied. “But we make sure to draw out the boundaries of our positions before trying to defend them. Besides, you have decided Wakanda’s direction for the future and you are not going to listen to anyone here on this Council who advises you otherwise. Go and argue with your War Dog spy, and your little sister, and your angry cousin, all you disrespectful children.”

“Hey,” T'Challa said, without much heat. “You are not much older than I am.”

M’baku tapped his brow. “Perhaps not in body, but up here?”

T'Challa laughed, and stood. “If none of the council have any objections, I will take the advice of wise M’baku.” 

Apparently none of them did. That was at least as much about having Prince N’Jadaka out of the room as anything else, in M’baku’s opinion. No doubt some of the Elders would approach T'Challa alone to ask him not to invite his cousin next time. Good luck to them, for they would need it. 

\----

After the battle atop Mount Bashenga ended with her husband’s surrender, it had been Okoye’s responsibility to see to the confinement of W’Kabi and the rest of his Border Tribe warriors. Birin Zana had jails of course, but what W’Kabi had done was not precisely a criminal act. It was treason, but even that was arguable. During the challenge of ritual combat there was no king, only the contenders. Interference was forbidden, and that was the only law her husband had broken. As a short term solution they had been put under guard into the guest quarters of the Old Palace, which dated back nearly a millennium to when Wakanda had occasionally accepted the diplomatic envoys of other tribes and nations within Africa. The New Palace had been built atop and around the old, and it had been immaculately preserved as part of the history of their people. 

Now that King T'Challa intended to bring Wakanda out into the world, they would have to consider such things as diplomatic envoys again. Perhaps they could take inspiration from that history.

As to the eventual fate of the Border Tribe, only T'Challa and the council could make that decision. Okoye had not seen or spoken to her husband since locking him within those walls, and the burden of what he had chosen to do was still a heavy weight beneath her heart, dragging it down. You thought you knew a man, his virtues and his faults, and then he does something like this that you could never have predicted. 

Might she have seen it coming? When Okoye had held her Dora Milaje back so that the challenge could be completed she had truely believed that W’Kabi would do the same. She was well aware that he favoured the outsider because he had slain Klaue where T'Challa seemingly could not, but Okoye hardly begrudged him that. She’d just thought he held his duty to Wakanda with the same honour as she did - if Okoye had gone with the choice of her heart, the pretender king would have had her spear through his chest the moment he sat on Wakanda’s throne. 

What would she say to her husband once his fate was decided? Was their love large enough to survive betrayal? It had already come so close to breaking when duty had nearly demanded W’Kabi’s death. It had been enough for him to see the truth in her eyes, to let him see their was no other way forward but surrender - he had loved her enough not to force her to kill him. 

Could she have him in her house, in her bed, knowing now the choices he was capable of making? 

\----

Nakia had been waiting for T'Challa to visit her. She didn’t believe he was consciously avoiding her, and certainly not because he was feeling awkward yet again about his feelings towards her. No, he was simply troubled by everything that had happened. Nakia could not blame him for that. She needed the time herself to recover from the turmoil of the last few days. 

For a while she had genuinely believed that T'Challa was dead. 

The blank horror of those hours stayed with her now, only beginning to thaw from seeing him reborn yet again with the favour of Bast and his ancestors. She had been hollowed out, made empty. Sorrow had torn her heart from her and left a ghost, walking and talking and making plans because that was all that was left to her. Her vocation. That political strategy and understanding which had sent her up into the mountains - or perhaps that was Bast guiding her footsteps back to T'Challa. 

Killmonger was trained to bring down governments, but so was Nakia - not that Wakanda’s traditions would ever mean they’d ask that of her. She knew how to find the levers of power and move them just so. It was strange doing it in her own country, but that feeling had been buried by fear of what Killmonger had done and what he might still do to the rest of the royal family. 

That man was still alive. It was not Nakia’s business where T'Challa put his forgiveness, but that didn’t mean she gave her own. 

A knock came at the door of her office. Nakia set aside the papers and reports she had not really been focusing on. “Come in,” she called. T'Challa’s handsome face appeared. 

“Ah Nakia. Do you have a moment?” Nakia motioned for him to take the seat in front of her. “Are you making much progress?”

“Some,” Nakia admitted. “There is just so much to do.” Wakanda had never suffered from a lack of information about the world’s evils - at least when those evils had the potential to impact _them_ \- merely in the will to do anything about it. “And what of yourself? Has your cousin tried to kill you again yet? I heard he caused an uproar in the council chambers.”

“He is fine.” T'Challa replied. “Just… very strident about his opinions.”

Nakia could not find much to say to that. Oh yes, Killmonger was a true believer - in _himself_ , as the one to save the world. He wanted to do some kind of good but his whole way of looking at it was warped. He thought like the colonisers - but could he have thought any other way, growing up amongst them? Even in their highest places of learning where Killmonger had studied, did they give any more than lip service to the idea that the natural state of humanity was more than the urge to conquer each other?

T'Challa obviously believed that Killmonger could learn differently. Nakia was not particularly convinced by this, but the choice was T'Challa’s. 

This was not the time to get into all of that. She wanted to ask T'Challa about something else that had been occupying her mind over the last few days. “I have a question for you my king,” she said. 

“I am always happy to answer any of your questions Nakia.”

“Now that you have made the decision that Wakanda will act for the world, which one of us was it that convinced you in the end?” she asked. 

T'Challa blinked, and she watched his face slowly change. His smile dropped to seriousness. He didn’t try to pretend he didn’t understand just what she was asking, but he didn’t seem to know how to answer.

“What you’re doing,” Nakia said, “is everything I’ve wanted our country to start doing for years now. It’s why I left Wakanda as a War Dog when it seemed I was a lone voice shouting into the wind. Did I change your mind when I came back for the coronation, when I said I couldn’t stay after it if things remained the same? Did you decide then that what was in my heart was also in yours? That you would lead Wakanda into the future and into the world? Or did you only decide that when your own blood came to show you how much damage ignoring the world had done?”

“There is no easy answer to that question,” T'Challa replied. “At what point does the river spring from its banks to change its course and why? I changed because of both of you Nakia, but even that is not the whole story. You weren’t with us when my father and I went to speak in Vienna, but I think then that even _he_ was starting to change his stance on this issue. It is as W’Kabi has said in the past. The world is smaller now. The west is beginning to catch up to our own technology. I think my father was beginning to see that some things are inevitable.”

“Really?” Nakia said, not quite believing it. “King T’Chaka said that?” 

“Not in so many words,” T'Challa allowed. “But he did hint at it.” He looked down, and Nakia saw his throat move with the effort of swallowing sudden emotion. “We will never know now.

“It surprised me to hear him talk like that,” T'Challa mused. “I had never heard him consider the idea - he never approved of it when you brought it up after all. I think as well though it was what I saw for myself out there in the world.”

“This wasn’t your first time outside Wakanda,” Nakia pointed out. Admittedly none of the royal family had made leaving Wakanda common practise, but there were certain things expected of a country that was a member of the United Nations, even a small country. T'Challa had accompanied T’Chaka on almost all of his diplomatic missions after the mantle of the Black Panther had been passed down to him. 

“It was my first time outside of conferences and meetings,” T'Challa said. “My first time seeing these ‘super’ heroes of theirs in the flesh. They have the powers of kings without any sort of responsibilities to what they bear - none save the limitations that their consciences place upon them. I understood then how expansive are the developments they are making in their science and beyond - and how much of a danger those things could one day prove to Wakanda.”

“Didn’t you bring some of those superheroes into Wakanda though?” Nakia asked. 

“I brought them here to pay a debt I owed them,” T'Challa explained. “Not because I believed that Captain Rogers was right to spurn the opinions of the world’s governments. Believe me Nakia, I will be discussing that with him if he wishes to stay in Wakanda past the point where his friend has been healed.”

“We should probably make sure he and Agent Ross do not meet,” Nakia said in a moment of realisation. To think the American had been wandering around Shuri’s lab not yards away from where the Winter Soldier was lying in cryosleep. That could have gone very badly. 

“Agent Ross will be coming with me to the United Nations,” T'Challa said, “and then I will be leaving him there.”

“General Okoye will not like that,” Nakia pointed out. “I’m not sure _I_ like that. He has seen a lot.”

“Would you rather we keep him a prisoner here?” T'Challa asked. “I do not wish to give the Americans an excuse to start a conflict with us.”

“Uncle Negasi told me what you were discussing at the council. Ross knows about the vibranium - if you want to keep that a secret then he cannot go back. Besides the CIA doesn’t know he is still alive. He would have died if we hadn’t gotten him to Shuri in time - we could pretend that he did.”

“I am sure N’Jadaka would suggest we do more than pretend,” T'Challa said. “Whatever we do with Ross, we will need to keep the two of _them_ apart as well.” He sighed. “You know, when Ross told us who N’Jadaka was to the Americans he spoke about him with pride. My cousin may have been trying to forge a path back home and towards his revenge, but while he did so he was a favoured weapon in the hands of colonisers and imperialists. I may find Ross an honourable enough man to work with but that does not mean I forget what he is.”

Nakia snorted, feeling a rising wave of contempt. “Yes, he said that in front of us as well. That the CIA had trained Killmonger to bring down governments. He is a spy - I am amazed that he forgot who he was talking to! I suppose he thinks of you as one of the American’s pet dictators T'Challa. It is either that or he is still so stuck in his preconceptions about us that Wakanda does not register as a threat to him.”

T'Challa looked troubled. “If he considers me a pet dictator then that would suggest he is not the only one. I do not wish to go before the United Nations and have them be so mistaken about me.”

“To the Americans the leader of any country rich in resources is either their pet or their enemy,” Nakia said sourly. In this at least Killmonger was right. “We must be prepared to defend ourselves from the Americans, but our focus should not be on them. Let us focus on fixing our own continent first, before we try and fix the others.”

“For all his pride in N’Jadaka, Ross fought against him by choice,” T'Challa said, almost musing to himself. “I suppose that is not to say that his sympathies lie with us however. N’Jadaka would have sown chaos across America - it was in Ross’ interests to help us. He will expect gratitude; the more so if his expectations are set by past interactions with others.”

“Yes,” Nakia agreed. “How many dictators and leaders have the Americans helped suppress uprisings and revolutionaries? Whether those revolutionaries had a just cause or whether they were trying to do something terrible - the Americans certainly do not care.”

“Now I am less certain with the risks of letting him go,” T'Challa said. “Yet I had hoped to have an outsider as a witness at the UN.”

Nakia shrugged. “You don’t have to speak to the UN right away. There is still a lot that we can do before then. It a conflict with America is inevitable then we must just make sure we are ready before it comes.”

“There must be some way to show Ross that such a conflict would not be in his country’s interests,” T’Challa said. “Then he would be a warning to them, rather than a threat to us.”

Nakia chuckled, although it was not happy. “That would require their government to be able to listen to good sense.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some conversations are for comfort. Others... less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse is always so reluctant to co-operate these days. I'll try to keep up a weekly chapter schedule anyway.

Once they were far enough away from the Raft that he didn’t have to worry about anyone pursuing them Steve was able to take his attention off the ship’s sensors and engage the autopilot. He left the cockpit and maneuvered himself through the cramped opening to the hold in the back where his friends had managed to find themselves places to sit. He hadn’t had the time during the escape to really get a good look at everyone, and he was relieved to see that none of them appeared to have any injuries from their time imprisoned - at least not visible ones. 

“We heading home man?” Scott asked as soon as Steve came into view. He had his hands clasped in his lap, knuckles showing white, and it wasn’t stopping the nervous jittering of his leg either. 

“We talked about this,” Clint said, but softly. “You and me, we’re in the same boat. We’ve both got families we want to get back to but you gotta know that’s literally the first place they’ll look. We keep them much safer by staying well away at least until things blow over.” Unspoken was the fact that things might never blow over. Steve wasn’t stupid. He’d known what he was doing. They were going against the US government - but it wouldn’t be the first time or the last. He didn’t much care; it came down to doing what was right, not what was convenient.

“I know, I know. Doesn’t stop me wanting…” Scott bent over, scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Look I never wanted to sound like I was complaining,” he said, “but when you told me we might go to jail for this I was thinking regular fucking jail not goddamn Gitmo!”

“I don’t think any of us were expecting the Raft,” Steve said. He knew no-one on his side had at least. He was less sure about Tony. Suspicion was a terrible thing. It gnawed away at your foundations and left you looking into every shadow, but after waking up in this terrible version of the future nothing at all like what he’d been fighting for, there didn’t seem to be anything else. From the first moment he had opened his eyes people had been lying to him and it had never stopped. There was hardly anyone out there who could be trusted. 

That’s why he needed Bucky back.

“There’s no way that place is legal,” Sam said with his own troubled look. “I may not have had time to properly read through the Accords but I don’t remember anything about stripping away due process and indefinite detention - and that’s the kind of thing that would have stood out.”

“I have no doubt that we have Secretary Ross to thank for that,” Steve said. Now they were out the fear he’d had for his friends was gradually receding and the anger which had been hiding underneath was starting to seep to the surface. It was an old emotion, familiar and righteous. Something that burned within him and demanded that he act. “He’ll be trying everything he can to track us all down and throw us back in here.”

“I’m done with America anyway,” Wanda said. She was trying to put on a good face but from the way she was holding her hands Steve could tell she was keeping her abilities close to active, ready for anything. “At least the North. I’ve heard that South America can be a nice place to live if you choose the right parts of it.”

“We have to return this plane before we talk about what we’re all going to do next,” Steve said. 

“Yeah, about that,” Sam said. “How exactly did you get the King of Wakanda on side, and how did he get you a aircraft like _this?_ ”

“Seconded,” Clint said, pointing to the walls around them. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s not made by any American manufacturer.”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Steve admitted. “Essentially King T’Challa was able to see proof that Bucky wasn’t responsible for the attack on the UN, and he felt pretty bad for going after him. He’d followed us to Siberia…” He paused, realising he hadn’t even explained the whole fallout from _that_. About the dead super-soldiers, about Zemo, about Tony turning on Bucky and trying to kill each other… Not now though. One thing at a time. “Anyway he captured the man who was responsible and turned him over to the UN, so at least Bucky’s been cleared of that. Then he offered to help, to make amends. We went back to Wakanda with him, and he lent this plane to me because he was sure it was the only way to get inside the Raft. I think he was right about that.”

“It’s Wakandan?” If anything Clint looked more confused by this. “Listen I may have dropped out of school but I’m not that ignorant about the world. Wakanda’s a third world country. The only resources they’ve ever had was a bit of vibranium they took years to mine and that that bozo Klaue stole from them the moment they finished. Don’t you think that if they had tech like this someone would have noticed by now?”

“I would have thought so,” Steve said, nodding. “I didn’t stick around there long enough to talk politics or technology, but from what I did see it appears that there’s a lot the world doesn’t know about Wakanda.”

Scott sighed. “If I’m not going to have a chance to see my daughter again any time soon then I don’t care where we end up. So long as it keeps us out of prison I’m all for it.”

“Agreed,” Sam said. He was looking around the plane with new eyes, gleaming with curiosity. “This I gotta see.”

Steve looked to Wanda expectantly. She didn’t meet his gaze, and her hands were twisting together in her lap. “What makes you think they’ll want me there?” she asked quietly. “I killed his people. In Lagos, when I…” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and took a few deep breaths. 

“That was a mistake - it wasn’t your fault,” Steve told her. “If the bomb had gone off in the marketplace a lot more people would have died.”

“I wasn’t thinking about where I was sending it,” Wanda said. “I should have been smarter. I should have been paying attention. I could have sent the explosion somewhere else. Not as close to the buildings - but I didn’t even realise it was there and I should have.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Steve said. “All of us here have made mistakes. Some of mine have gotten people killed. That’s war. I…”

“But this wasn’t a war!” Wanda replied before he could finish. “Not like you mean it!” She managed to calm down a little with an obvious effort of will. “I know what you are trying to say Steve and thank you. You are just trying to help. But I don’t think I am ready to… to simply forgive myself so easily.”

For a moment there was silence. Then Sam said, “You gotta take things at your own pace, we get it. We’re gonna be there for you though, whenever you feel you are ready.” 

Wanda nodded, wiping the hints of tears from her eyes. 

“Look, T’Challa knew you would be with us when I came back,” Steve said. “If he didn’t want you in Wakanda he would have said something to me, right? And he didn’t. So you’re fine. You’re okay.”

“I suppose we will see,” she said, very quietly.

\----

The Lord of Star’s ship was massive indeed. Thor had little time yet to explore it but he was impressed by what he had seen thus far. There were great halls, long corridors, quarters for many thousands, and banks of computers alien enough that their purpose could not be easily guessed at on mere visual inspection. The quarters themselves were simple and spartan in design, but the Asgardian people were a resilient folk capable of adapting to their circumstances. Even this was a step up from the cramped conditions on the _Statesman_ , and so there were no complaints. The food too was simple, an essentially tasteless paste that nevertheless contained most of the nutrients required for day to day survival. The mixture was clearly meant for a species other than Asgardians for there were several minerals missing or in odd amounts, but it would more than do until they reached Earth. 

His folk were settled aboard this vessel now and Thor had little to do with himself going forward. He had become King, not Prince, and that changed things. When he had still been foolhardy and headstrong, he had often gone into the city to drink amongst the common folk with the Warriors Three, but although he had been companionable with many he could not say that any of those of lower rank had been bosom friends. The distance between them was even greater now. Even walking amongst them he could feel how the atmosphere changed. There was respect, yes, but there was also fear. Was it not his elder sister, his own flesh and blood, who had slaughtered their own families and driven them out into the mountain fastness? Was it not Odin’s own follys brought home to roost that had led to the destruction of everything they had ever known - and had it not been Thor’s own decision to face that destruction and let it loose to burn out the cancer at the heart of Asgard with all its terrible cost? 

The golden city of Asgard, his home… it was gone now. 

Thor was used to being feared by his enemies. He was not used to being feared by his people. It was not a comfortable feeling. 

To occupy his time he was beginning to explore the bounds of this great vessel. The Lord of Stars and his comrades were kept very busy with the running of it, going between the vast engine rooms and the bridge. Occasionally he would run across one of them in the corridors working upon some pipe or piece of circuitry, either repairing or maintaining. Harried as they all looked, it had seemed to him rude to take up any of their clearly important time. 

At least Valkyrie Brunnhilde had free time to spare. It had taken her a few days to emerge from her room, but on eventually doing so she had challenged him to spar, and he was more than willing. She was an excellent fighter, and Thor himself was still learning the extent of his abilities without Mjolnir. He had invited Loki of course, but his brother was if anything more interested in the alien ship than Thor was. He kept disappearing into the bowels of it - sometime Thor would not see him all day. 

When it came to Loki he did not want to push. Thor felt he had finally achieved a kind of balance with his brother, where the push and pull of their orbits had settled down into something stable. It was better to feign a lack of concern so that Loki would return of his own accord, pained by the thought of Thor’s indifference. Loki did not seem to care so much if the attention paid him was good or bad, so long as he was not ignored. 

It would have been helpful to have realised this about Loki much sooner, Thor reflected. 

Brunnhilde was not yet in the hall they had chosen for their salle when Thor arrived there, so he settled down upon his knees in the centre of the room and attempted to fall into a kind of meditation. Summoning the thunder and the storm hadn’t been like this before admittedly, but both on Asgard and on Sakaar it had come in response to terrible pain. He was somewhat reluctant to keep relying on _that_ method. With the pain had come a… transcendence. A loosening from his physical body. He had gone somewhere else, to green flat fields and open skies. To the spirit of his father. That place and that power were within him now if he could only understand how to reach out and touch it. 

Mjolnir had been a conduit to that place inside of him. He had never realised it because Mjolnir had always felt like much more than a simple tool. It too had felt like a part of him; an extension of his own body. In a way it had been, more so than he’d even known. 

Finding the power was like turning a key in a lock. Familiar and foreign at the same time. Lightning began to crackle along the edges of his fingers. 

“Woah,” a voice said from behind him. “That’s uh… what _is_ that?”

Thor turned, letting the light and the power die away. It was the Lord of Stars, his arms full of various parts and tools. “Just a little lightning,” he replied. 

“I heard Asgardians could do some freaky shit sometimes but I didn’t know how much of that to believe,” the Terran said. He dropped his burdens onto a table at the side of the hall and approached. “Guess God of Thunder isn’t just a title huh.”

“You are correct, Lord of Stars.”

“My real name’s Peter Quill,” the Terran offered. “You don’t have to keep calling me Lord of Stars - or do if you like. It’s pretty cool to hear you say it.”

“Is it not your proper title?” Thor asked. “Do you not wish me to use it with the respect due to the Captain of this ship?”

“I mean, no one else does,” Peter said. “Besides if we’re going to be travelling together for a few weeks it’s too weird to keep things all formal between us the whole time.”

“Then as friends, I will call you Peter,” Thor said, holding out a hand. Peter took it and gave him a firm shake before letting go with a noise of surprise. A little flicker of blue-white energy crackled around his fingers for a moment before disappearing. “My apologies. I thought I’d gotten rid of that.” Thor looked down at his own hands, frowning momentarily. There was a strange expression on Quill’s face. Troubled. 

Peter rubbed his fingers together for a moment before dropping his hand to his side. “When you say you’re a god,” he asked slowly. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I am not the only god on board,” Thor said. “My brother is the god of Magic and Trickery - of both word and deed. We are both long-lived, which is typical of most Asgardians, but we have powers most do not.” Loki was not, strictly speaking, Asgardian which did make the issue of his godhood a slightly confusing one, but he was of Laufey’s line which had powers all their own. Looking back through Odin’s genealogy - closely guarded secret that it was - Thor’s grandmother had been Jotnar, so perhaps it would be better to say that the powers of godhood came from the mixing of Aesir and Jotnar bloodlines. 

“Powers like generating your own lightning?” Peter asked. 

“Lightning, flight, summoning storms,” Thor shrugged. “I myself do not fully understand the limits of what I can do.”

Peter was looking at his hand again. He seemed deep in thought. “We met a god recently,” he said. “He was way more of a dick than you. He was a Celestial though, not an Asgardian.”

“I thought all the Celestials dead millions of years ago,” Thor said with surprise. “Relegated to the realm of childhood fantasy tales now and little more. But there is one still alive you say?”

“There was,” Peter replied, his face going expressionless and cold. “Not any more. Like I said, he was a dick. The galaxy conquering kind.”

“Ah. Then I suppose his demise was for the best. I take it you and your crew had a hand in it?”

Peter hesitated for an awkwardly long time. Then he said, “I’m his son.”

“I’m sorry,” Thor said after a few moments, unsure of anything appropriate to say other than to offer his sympathy. 

“Yeah well, I wasn’t his only kid apparently,” Peter said. “Just the only one that inherited the right genes or whatever. He killed the rest. Wanted to use me as a battery. We threw down and with the help of my friends he came off the worst.” He paused. “I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this.”

“I’m a good listener?” Thor tried. 

“Just… afterwards I couldn’t touch the ‘light’ anymore, or whatever the source of his powers was. I could do all this amazing stuff and then nothing… except just then when I shook your hand it looked a bit like the light.”

Thor hadn’t felt anything of particular note from Quill when their hands had touched, but then neither had he felt his own lightning. Indeed he had believed he had dismissed all of it. “I do not want to give you false hope,” he said. “But nor do I want to subdue it. If you are the child of a Celestial I am certain you will have inherited something from that bloodline.”

“Might just be that I’m tougher than your average human,” Peter said, either masking his emotions or shrugging them off. “But I knew that already from the stuff with the Infinity Stone.”

“Infinity Stone?” Thor asked, a prickling wariness rising along his spine. 

“Yeah, I mean it’s not exactly a secret,” Peter said frowning. “Kinda surprised you haven’t heard of it. I didn’t want to brag about it, but me and my family - my _chosen_ family - we’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Thor shook his head. “No. Still no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” Quill said incredulously. “Have you been living under a rock for the past few years? The Guardians of the Galaxy! We saved Xandar from Ronan the Conqueror!”

“Xandar is a long way from Asgard,” Thor pointed out. “Tell me the saga of your victory then my friend. Leave no detail out.”

\----

Since their arrival on this rather impressive and strangely familiar ship Loki had been doing his best to keep a low profile. Simply because he had chosen to help Asgard on this one occasion - which was simple expediency and _not_ any kind of sentiment - he held no illusions that the favour he had won was anything other than transitory. Soon enough they would remember that they hated him. He would rather not be around to take the brunt of it when they turned on him - there was nowhere to run out here. The branches of Yggdrasil were many but they did not reach to every small corner of the universe, and space-faring vessels moved with too much swiftness to leap from them onto one of its many paths. 

It was not just the Asgardian people who had reason to wish him ill. He had not forgotten the berserker beast currently on board, nor the ex-Valkyrie who had not forgiven him for pulling painful memories to the forefront of her mind. Loki doubted she would attempt to kill him, but she would certainly be out for a suitable revenge. The beast was likely safe enough unless provoked, but it paid to be cautious. 

Thus; exploring the bowels of this vessel. 

He was trying to chase down the haunting sense of familiarity. The feeling that he had seen this place before - or if not this place then one very much like it. For a moment Loki closed his eyes in the middle of the corridor, trying to claw the hazy memories up into the forefront of his mind, trying to _remember._ Had it been long ago? It didn’t feel like that was the reason for forgetting. It seemed more recent, but…

No. His brute force attempt at remembering was ineffective, as was so often the case. This required subtlety, and for him to find some kind of anchor to bring it all back. 

Loki set off again on his path and was just turning the corner at the end of the corridor when he almost collided with someone else. He took a quick step backwards out of their way and shot them a glare to express his displeasure at their carelessness… and stopped in his tracks. 

The woman was tall and lithe with green skin and the silvery marks of cybernetic enhancements beneath it. She was also very familiar. “Gamora,” Loki snarled, memory suddenly flooding back to him. Of course. It was about Thanos.

His time spent with the Chitauri had always been fuzzy and unclear afterwards partly from the influence of the Mind Stone and partly because he did not particularly wish to think on those days. His experiences there had not been pleasant. He hadn’t considered that as the reason for this vague sense of the familiar, although he should have. Of course this ship had an architecture and design that matched that favoured by Thanos - and here was one of his favoured children on board it. 

“Loki,” Gamora said, not hiding her disdain. She was not obviously armed but she held herself in a loose stance that could snap into a fighting one with a moment’s notice. She had little need of weapons as well trained as she was. Loki recalled that much. He had been called before Thanos only twice, but this woman had been present both times, and on the second she had been fighting in front of the Titan for his amusement. 

“What are you doing here?” Loki demanded, making sure his knives were ready to be summoned from their pockets of space. 

“I might ask you the same thing,” Gamora replied. “Did my father send you after me?”

That was a strange thing to say. Loki took a second look at her. He’d thought her simply angry but there was more to it than that. There was some manner of fear lurking behind her eyes, in hint of tension in her body. Possibilities ran through his mind as he considered his options. Which would serve better here, truth or falsehood? And what advantage was there to be gained from the Titan’s daughter aside from staying her hand from violence. 

“I haven’t seen Thanos in a very long time,” he replied. “I dearly hope never to see him again.” Yes, she did relax slightly at that, although she was still wary. She had no reason to trust him of course. 

“I share that sentiment,” Gamora said. “So you ran away after your failure at conquering… whatever planet it was you were meant to be subduing.”

“I don’t know it I would call it running,” Loki replied. “I was captured by my foes and simply… never went back. Still I doubt your father would see it that way. But you… you _are_ running from him, aren’t you.”

“I played his dutiful daughter long enough,” Gamora said. “I’m free of him now, and I will be keeping it that way. We may not know each other well Loki but I heard enough about you. If you even _think_ of selling me out to get back in his good graces I’ll…”

“No need for threats,” Loki said quickly. “I have as little interest in contacting Thanos as you.” He would make no promises if Thanos ever did track him down but he was not fool enough to say so. “Still I would have expected someone trying to avoid Thanos would not have been so bold as to steal one of his ships.”

Gamora looked exasperated at that. “It was _not_ my idea,” she said. “Just one of Peter’s plans that got out of hand again.”

“Peter… your leader? This self-styled Starlord?”

Any kind of rapport fractured in the wake of Gamora’s sudden anger. “You don’t get to make fun of him,” she said sharply. “And you didn’t even explain how you came to be on board this ship yourself Loki.”

“Why, I was invited on of course,” Loki replied. “With all of the other Asgardian refugees.”

“I thought you hated the Asgardians,” Gamora said. “That’s what you claimed in your speech to Thanos wasn’t it? He told me you were something called a Jotun.”

It was Loki’s turn to feel sudden swift anger. “That,” he said, “is none of your business.”

Gamora put her hands in the air dismissively. “You’re right. It isn’t, and I don’t really care. Just know that so long as you’re on board this ship I’ll be keeping an eye on you. If you give me any reason to believe you’re a threat to me and my _real_ family…”

“I understand completely,” Loki replied. “I’ll be well away the moment we reach Earth.”


End file.
